Please you, excuse me, good five-o'clock people, I've lost my last hatful of words, And my heart's in the wood up above the church steeple, I'd rather have tea with - the birds. Gay Kate's stolen kisses, poor Barnaby's scars, John's losses and Mary's gains, Oh! what do they matter, my dears, to the stars Or the glow-worms in the lanes! I'd rather lie under the tall elm-trees, With old rooks talking loud overhead, To watch a red squirrel run over my knees, Very still on my brackeny bed. And wonder what feathers the wrens will be taking For lining their nests next Spring; Or why the tossed shadow of boughs in a great wind shaking Is such a lovely thing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: ANTON SOSNOWSKI by EDGAR LEE MASTERS COQUETTE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO HIS WIFE by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS CHILDHOOD by JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN LORD FINCHLEY by HILAIRE BELLOC ON THE DEATH OF MR. WOODWARD, AT EDINBURGH by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |